I'm posting this in honor of my son Joseph, who insists lightsabers are real and that I'm just too stingy to buy him one.
What I like about this is that they do many of the things that should have been obvious things to do in a lightsaber duel when you have the Force at your disposal.
You'll see.
Friday, December 21, 2007
Lightsaber Battle
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Monday, December 10, 2007
What Have We Ventured for Christ?
I have this thought that if Americans weren't afraid of brown skin, Islam could spread through our culture with ease. It's my opinion that Allah and the god of country music are not so different from each other. If the "Good Lord Up in Heaven" could be persuaded to only insist on, say, 5 commandments, and if he could be talked in to letting us love our friends and hate our enemies, we'd have Islam and few Americans would object. At least, that's what I suspect.
I'd love to be wrong, but I won't hold my breath. Another thing that makes me think this way is the fact that, historically, one of the ways Islam spread was by freeing the slaves and pardoning the debtors of their enemies--on the condition that the ex-slave/ex-debtor submit to Islam. With the amount of consumer debt in this country I think we're especially vulnerable on that front. It would add a whole new meaning to filing for bankruptcy. If I'm right that it's basically racism that keeps Americans from giving Islam a foothold, how sad is that? A vice is keeping us "virtuous"?
My friend Matt sent me this excerpt from a sermon given by Cardinal Newman. I think he (Newman) expresses a similar idea. If our faith is merely of the Country Music/American Civil Religion variety have we really risked anything to follow Christ? Remember the old addage: nothing ventured, nothing gained.
I'd love to be wrong, but I won't hold my breath. Another thing that makes me think this way is the fact that, historically, one of the ways Islam spread was by freeing the slaves and pardoning the debtors of their enemies--on the condition that the ex-slave/ex-debtor submit to Islam. With the amount of consumer debt in this country I think we're especially vulnerable on that front. It would add a whole new meaning to filing for bankruptcy. If I'm right that it's basically racism that keeps Americans from giving Islam a foothold, how sad is that? A vice is keeping us "virtuous"?
My friend Matt sent me this excerpt from a sermon given by Cardinal Newman. I think he (Newman) expresses a similar idea. If our faith is merely of the Country Music/American Civil Religion variety have we really risked anything to follow Christ? Remember the old addage: nothing ventured, nothing gained.
"What have we ventured for Christ? What have we given to Him on a belief of His promise? The Apostle said, that he and his brethren would be of all men most miserable, if the dead were not raised. Can we in any degree apply this to ourselves? We think, perhaps, at present, we have some hope of heaven; well, this we should lose of course; but after all, how should we be worse off as to our present condition? A trader, who has embarked some property in a speculation which fails, not only loses his prospect of gain, but somewhat of his own, which he ventured with the hope of the gain. This is the question, What have we ventured? I really fear, when we come to examine, it will be found that there is nothing we resolve, nothing we do, nothing we do not do, nothing we avoid, nothing we choose, nothing we give up, nothing we pursue, which we should not resolve, and do, and not do, and avoid, and choose, and give up, and pursue, if Christ had not died, and heaven were not promised us. I really fear that most men called Christians, whatever they may profess, whatever they may think they feel, whatever warmth and illumination and love they may claim as their own, yet would go on almost as they do, neither much better nor much worse, if they believed Christianity to be a fable. When young, they indulge their lusts, or at least pursue the world's vanities; as time goes on, they get into a fair way of business, or other mode of making money; then they marry and settle; and their interest coinciding with their duty, they seem to be, and think themselves, respectable and religious men; they grow attached to things as they are; they begin to have a zeal {302} against vice and error; and they follow after peace with all men. Such conduct indeed, as far as it goes, is right and praiseworthy. Only I say, it has not necessarily any thing to do with religion at all; there is nothing in it which is any proof of the presence of religious principle in those who adopt it; there is nothing they would not do still, though they had nothing to gain from it, except what they gain from it now: they do gain something now, they do gratify their present wishes, they are quiet and orderly, because it is their interest and taste to be so; but they venture nothing, they risk, they sacrifice, they abandon nothing on the faith of Christ's word."
Friday, December 7, 2007
My Birthday
Here is a picture of some of the loot I got for not dying last year. The stuff on the left side of the table is from my kids: 2 Jiffy Pop popcorns, a single chocolate chip cookie, 3 previously-owned figurines in various states of repair, one cracked Narnia snowglobe from McDonalds, some stuffed things, 2 cards and a counterfeit dollar bill. On the right are gifts from my Kolbe students (they went with a coffee theme): a customized travel mug with pictures of my students that are a few years old, a balloon on a stick, an enormous Starbucks mug (which says "Established 1971", like me), a bag of coffee, a can of coffee, German cookies, a ziplock bag of sugar, 2 creamers, and--my favorite--gift wrapped coffee filters.
This is why I love my birthday and why every one is better than the last. You couldn't script better gifts. They're great and they practically beg to be worked into a reflection on how our gifts to God are just like these, but, you're all smart and I don't have the time to write that reflection, so fill in the blanks. I'm just sure that God must be as pleased with our efforts to love Him as I was with these kids' efforts to please their grumpy (now old) teacher.
Monday, December 3, 2007
G.K. Chesterton's Father Brown Reader cover artwork the Perfect Christmas Gift
My friend Nancy Brown asked her friends to publicize thiseBay auction for the original artwork to her new book's cover, so I did.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
The Dangers of Education
Well, it's official: my daughter Olivia can read. Normally, this would be a cause for celebration, but it really puts a damper on my "parenting" style.
What I mean is that, with this development, my wife and I can no longer spell secret messages to each other in front of our middle child. Now, only the baby and Annamaria remain clueless.
Yesterday, Joseph was busy being a boy at the dinner table and he messed up the cushion on the window seat. This cushion was something that Amy wanted for a long time and now that we finally have it, it gets quite a bit of attention from the mistress of the house.
"Don't bend the cushion!"
"Don't hold your sandwich over the cushion!"
"Don't walk on the cushion with your dirty feet, I just cleaned it!"
You get the idea.
Well, last night Papi had the midkids--Joe and Liv--while Mama took the bookends--Sophia, Annamaria, and Max--to Sophia's audition (The Princess and the Pea, if you're tracking). Anyway, after dinner I noticed that the cushion had somehow found it's way under the table.
I announced to Joseph that Mama was going to be "P-I-S-S-E-D Off" if she came home and saw that. Because he's a good boy and loves his Mama (we all do), he fixed it immediately.
That's when I heard what I thought was Olivia spitting out a hair or something.
"Puh...puh...puh..."
"Liva, are you okay?"
"ih...ih...ih...ssss...ssss..."
Oh, hell.
"eh...eh...eh...duh...duh. PISSED!! Papi, what does 'pissed' mean?"
"It means Papi's in trouble."
In my defense, the "P-I-S-S-E-D Off" line is not how I usually speak in front of my kids; it's a quote from a song composed by one of my favorite singers, Tonio K.
Tonio K. is a brilliant satirical lyricist who sings about the twistedness of love after the Fall of Man. I've learned more about true love from him than probably any other influence in my life (sadly, including Popes). Trouble is, he used to have a potty mouth, and his song H-A-T-R-E-D (from which Liva's new vocabulary word was plucked) is peppered with a number of expletives. (It's a breakup song, he was drunk when he recorded it, etc., etc.) It's also hilarious. So I sing it. And quote parts of it. In front of my newly literate daughter.
So, for those of you that care about our Domestic Safari, some of the cubs are learining new tricks and one of the gameskeepers is in the dog house.
Monday, November 5, 2007
The Toes-ary
On a lighter note...
Recently, the kids have discovered that knuckles pop. Now popping knuckles is something they all want to do, all the time. Taking advantage of this, I have developed a new form of prayer. We call it the "Toes-ary".
Basically, it's a cross between "Little Piggies" and the Rosary. I grab a toe and start a Hail Mary while popping the knuckles. With each toe, we say a little more of the prayer until we finish. Then, we repeat on the other foot. Last night we decided that the mystery from the life of Christ we'd reflect on is the washing of the disciples feet.
It's not likely to go down in history as one of the great forms of prayer like these, but this is something distinctly Drapeauvian and proof that happy families are happy in unique ways.
In the future, I'll post some more of our family's quirky habits/sayings for your amusement.
Our Greatest Fear
An old friend from South Africa recently got in touch with me and sent me the following quotation in response to post on Heroic Leadership. It's from a woman named Marianne Williamson but is often attributed erroneously to Nelson Mandela. When I first saw it it had Mandela's name attached, so every time I think of it, it's Mandela's voice delivering the lines in my head.
I really like the quotation and I think it certainly has Ignatian overtones. It reminds me of St. Irenaus' saying that the "Glory of God is man fully alive." I'm a little suspicious of the rest of this woman's oeuvre. (It has that "I'm not religious, I'm spiritual" vibe that drives me nuts.) Anyway, the quotation:
Thanks, Craig!
I really like the quotation and I think it certainly has Ignatian overtones. It reminds me of St. Irenaus' saying that the "Glory of God is man fully alive." I'm a little suspicious of the rest of this woman's oeuvre. (It has that "I'm not religious, I'm spiritual" vibe that drives me nuts.) Anyway, the quotation:
Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.
Thanks, Craig!
Thursday, November 1, 2007
Reflections on Heroic Leadership
The following is an excerpt from my journal that I thought I'd put up here. If it is boring or rambling, forgive me and just scroll down to the previous post of my kids' videos. At least they're cute.
I have started reading a new book called Heroic Leadership written by a former Jesuit and given to me by a dear friend. So far it is interesting, but not fascinating. I think my exposure to things Ignatian has lessened the novelty of many of his insights, but he is making me think of things I haven’t thought of in a while.
This morning I want to consider and explore one of the things that comes up in that book, namely, the importance of self-awareness. Also, I want to examine the Ignatian legacy in my life.
The current state of my life is best characterized by the phrase “in transition.” As I’ve written elsewhere, I see what has been going on these last few years as an Exodus of sorts. Certainly the most resonant scripture account has been the story of the Israelites’ journey from slavery to freedom in the Promised Land. I have identified closely with this recently and when I say I’m “in transition” this is what I’m referring to—the transition from slavery to freedom; from death to new life.
But, this new life I’m experiencing/preparing to experience is an enigma to me. I’m genuinely bewildered about what “new life” means for me.
In many ways I find my experience analogous to being born. The transition is laborious and quite painful, and now that I’m in this new environment, I have to learn everything from scratch. I know how to be a slave; I don’t know how to be free.
This is a very unusual position to be in for me. I who prided himself on being so self-aware, for keeping a journal, for being wise, etc. find myself wide-eyed and paralyzed in my current situation. In my mind’s eye, I appear as mystified as my son Maximilian waking from a nap in the afternoon. How odd to not know myself.
This brings me to the discussion on Ignatius and the influence of the Jesuits on my life. Am I Ignatian? Have the Jesuits marked me for life? If so, how do I cultivate the good of the Jesuits and filter out the poison that seems to be contaminating the order at present? Am I not Ignatian? Is my desire to be Ignatian a romantic notion akin to my desires to speak Latin, have a degree from TAC, and be physically/lethally fit? Is it a lie for me to consider myself a product of the Jesuits when I am not financially successful, politically influential, whatever? Am I not primarily a Chestertonian? Do I not identify with Opus Dei more than with the Society of Jesus?
On the other hand, do those things not come from my love of my Jesuit education? After all, I learned of GKC at BCP; I came to love the idea of AMDG present in Opus Dei from Jesuit priests and authors I met and read while in high school. In fact, the most influential books I’ve ever read are ones I came across during my time as a student at Brophy Prep.
So, what? How do I make use of my Jesuit legacy? Must I still be involved with the place that was for me both the Egypt of Joseph and the Egypt of Moses? Can I truly maintain an Ignatian character apart from a vital connection with the order? Will I wither and fade like a cut flower in my isolation? Will Brophy/the Society of Jesus become the Great Pyramids of my life’s landscape—impressive edifices, filled with hieroglyphics and dead men’s bones?
How can I distill from my time with Ignatius’ company a practical potion for making my own company prosperous? What can Inigo teach me about freedom and learning to walk? I don’t know the answers to all these questions. In reading Heroic Leadership, I’ve come across a few phrases that sparked this reflection:
Greater love than fear. This is how Ignatius hoped to characterize his order. It is emphatically not how Brophy was run during my time as a teacher there. It is however the way I want to live my life.
This theme of love being stronger than fear has run through my life for a long time. I think freedom from fear is one of the most important things I need to learn/am learning here in the land of Canaan. For me, this virtue of courage is crucial. I need it so that I can give it away, lead my family, inspire my sons. I need I to be real, too. I need to be brave so that when I talk to students, my consolation is strong and not merely a platitude.
I believe more than anything in the power of love. From John Donne to Tonio K. to Amy Elizabeth to my children to wordSwell, I believe in love connections. I believe in making them, keeping them, strengthening them. I want my life and my work to be like St. Andrew—I want to bring people to Love; I want to love people to God.
Our way of proceeding. The author of Heroic Leadership points out that the Jesuits “way of proceeding” is never written out as a formula. Rather, it issues forth from a state of being that St. Ignatius inculcated in his company. This simplest way to explain this is that Ignatius didn’t give a man a fish, nor did he merely teach a man to fish. What he did was more radical: he helped men become fishermen.
My way of proceeding must also necessarily flow out of my being and not be limited to my doing. I think here is a place for intuition to operate. At Brophy, my intuition was the first place that seeds of self-doubt were sown. I’m still affected by it. Here, too, the role of habits becomes so obvious and important. Good intuition comes from good habits; habits form one’s way of proceeding. Consequently, I do not proceed how I would.
The question for me is “how do I effectively change my habits?” I’ve gotten past the immaturity of strongly worded resolutions and may just be coming out of a jaded cynicism, but here is a prime example of where I’m a newborn without a clue.
As a slave, my habits were more conditioning than anything else. I acted as was expected (out of fear) or as unexpected (out of passive resistance), but never truly out of virtue. Even my fidelity to the Church was largely a rebellion against the “System”. (I have always wanted to be orthodox, but my self-identification as “Mr. Orthodoxy: heroic martyr” was not authentically me. The real me is a reconciler; a defender of the Faith who seeks understanding.)
As a free man, how do I form good habits? I am accustomed to failure and disappointment. I fear success more than anything else, so I sabotage myself constantly by overextending myself and causing chaos. Steven Pressfield might insist that doing my Work will form my work habits. I think that’s true.
Magis. I won’t say much about this except perhaps “Amen”. I want my life and work to be more than the minimum--I want to live for God’s great glory. But I also want it (my contribution to his glory) to be truly great.
I have started reading a new book called Heroic Leadership written by a former Jesuit and given to me by a dear friend. So far it is interesting, but not fascinating. I think my exposure to things Ignatian has lessened the novelty of many of his insights, but he is making me think of things I haven’t thought of in a while.
This morning I want to consider and explore one of the things that comes up in that book, namely, the importance of self-awareness. Also, I want to examine the Ignatian legacy in my life.
The current state of my life is best characterized by the phrase “in transition.” As I’ve written elsewhere, I see what has been going on these last few years as an Exodus of sorts. Certainly the most resonant scripture account has been the story of the Israelites’ journey from slavery to freedom in the Promised Land. I have identified closely with this recently and when I say I’m “in transition” this is what I’m referring to—the transition from slavery to freedom; from death to new life.
But, this new life I’m experiencing/preparing to experience is an enigma to me. I’m genuinely bewildered about what “new life” means for me.
In many ways I find my experience analogous to being born. The transition is laborious and quite painful, and now that I’m in this new environment, I have to learn everything from scratch. I know how to be a slave; I don’t know how to be free.
This is a very unusual position to be in for me. I who prided himself on being so self-aware, for keeping a journal, for being wise, etc. find myself wide-eyed and paralyzed in my current situation. In my mind’s eye, I appear as mystified as my son Maximilian waking from a nap in the afternoon. How odd to not know myself.
This brings me to the discussion on Ignatius and the influence of the Jesuits on my life. Am I Ignatian? Have the Jesuits marked me for life? If so, how do I cultivate the good of the Jesuits and filter out the poison that seems to be contaminating the order at present? Am I not Ignatian? Is my desire to be Ignatian a romantic notion akin to my desires to speak Latin, have a degree from TAC, and be physically/lethally fit? Is it a lie for me to consider myself a product of the Jesuits when I am not financially successful, politically influential, whatever? Am I not primarily a Chestertonian? Do I not identify with Opus Dei more than with the Society of Jesus?
On the other hand, do those things not come from my love of my Jesuit education? After all, I learned of GKC at BCP; I came to love the idea of AMDG present in Opus Dei from Jesuit priests and authors I met and read while in high school. In fact, the most influential books I’ve ever read are ones I came across during my time as a student at Brophy Prep.
So, what? How do I make use of my Jesuit legacy? Must I still be involved with the place that was for me both the Egypt of Joseph and the Egypt of Moses? Can I truly maintain an Ignatian character apart from a vital connection with the order? Will I wither and fade like a cut flower in my isolation? Will Brophy/the Society of Jesus become the Great Pyramids of my life’s landscape—impressive edifices, filled with hieroglyphics and dead men’s bones?
How can I distill from my time with Ignatius’ company a practical potion for making my own company prosperous? What can Inigo teach me about freedom and learning to walk? I don’t know the answers to all these questions. In reading Heroic Leadership, I’ve come across a few phrases that sparked this reflection:
“our way of proceeding”
“greater love than fear”
“magis”
Greater love than fear. This is how Ignatius hoped to characterize his order. It is emphatically not how Brophy was run during my time as a teacher there. It is however the way I want to live my life.
This theme of love being stronger than fear has run through my life for a long time. I think freedom from fear is one of the most important things I need to learn/am learning here in the land of Canaan. For me, this virtue of courage is crucial. I need it so that I can give it away, lead my family, inspire my sons. I need I to be real, too. I need to be brave so that when I talk to students, my consolation is strong and not merely a platitude.
I believe more than anything in the power of love. From John Donne to Tonio K. to Amy Elizabeth to my children to wordSwell, I believe in love connections. I believe in making them, keeping them, strengthening them. I want my life and my work to be like St. Andrew—I want to bring people to Love; I want to love people to God.
Our way of proceeding. The author of Heroic Leadership points out that the Jesuits “way of proceeding” is never written out as a formula. Rather, it issues forth from a state of being that St. Ignatius inculcated in his company. This simplest way to explain this is that Ignatius didn’t give a man a fish, nor did he merely teach a man to fish. What he did was more radical: he helped men become fishermen.
My way of proceeding must also necessarily flow out of my being and not be limited to my doing. I think here is a place for intuition to operate. At Brophy, my intuition was the first place that seeds of self-doubt were sown. I’m still affected by it. Here, too, the role of habits becomes so obvious and important. Good intuition comes from good habits; habits form one’s way of proceeding. Consequently, I do not proceed how I would.
The question for me is “how do I effectively change my habits?” I’ve gotten past the immaturity of strongly worded resolutions and may just be coming out of a jaded cynicism, but here is a prime example of where I’m a newborn without a clue.
As a slave, my habits were more conditioning than anything else. I acted as was expected (out of fear) or as unexpected (out of passive resistance), but never truly out of virtue. Even my fidelity to the Church was largely a rebellion against the “System”. (I have always wanted to be orthodox, but my self-identification as “Mr. Orthodoxy: heroic martyr” was not authentically me. The real me is a reconciler; a defender of the Faith who seeks understanding.)
As a free man, how do I form good habits? I am accustomed to failure and disappointment. I fear success more than anything else, so I sabotage myself constantly by overextending myself and causing chaos. Steven Pressfield might insist that doing my Work will form my work habits. I think that’s true.
Magis. I won’t say much about this except perhaps “Amen”. I want my life and work to be more than the minimum--I want to live for God’s great glory. But I also want it (my contribution to his glory) to be truly great.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Kids' Saint's Day Speeches
Every year, in lieu of a Halloween celebration at the school, our kids have a saint's day celebration. All the kids in the school research a saint and then give a short presentation about that saint's life dressed as the saint they've chosen.
The quality of the video is not that good, but I posted them fast, so no complaints.
This year, we had the following saints:
Olivia, as St. Clare of Assisi
Joseph, as St. Jude Thaddeus
Sophia, as St. Colette
For good measure, we also have Max as St. Luke (Skywalker)
The quality of the video is not that good, but I posted them fast, so no complaints.
This year, we had the following saints:
Olivia, as St. Clare of Assisi
Joseph, as St. Jude Thaddeus
Sophia, as St. Colette
For good measure, we also have Max as St. Luke (Skywalker)
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
A Song That Chokes Me Up
Last night at Monday School we were discussing Jesus' parables of the Hidden Treasure and the Pearl of Great Price. I mentioned a song called "How Much Do You Think You Are Worth?" that always makes me verklempt.
Below are the lyrics to the song and a link to where you can hear it performed by the original artist (I prefer the version of my friend who introduced me to the song, but she's not on the Internet...)
You'll need Real Audio Player to listen.
How Much Do You Think You Are Worth?
Is a rich man worth more than a poor man?
A stranger worth less than a friend?
Is a baby worth more than an old man?
Your beginning worth more than your end?
Is a president worth more than his assassin?
Does your value decrease with your crime?
Like when Christ took the place of Barabbas
Would you say he was wasting his time?
Well, how much do you think you are worth, boy?
Will anyone stand up and say?
Would you say that a man is worth nothing
Until someone is willing to pay?
I suppose that you think you matter
Well, how much do you matter to whom?
It’s much easier at night when with friends and bright lights
Than much later alone in your room
Do you think they’ll miss one in a billion
When you finish this old human race?
Does it really make much of a difference
When your friends have forgotten your face?
If you heard that your life had been valued
That a price had been paid on the nail
Would you ask what was traded,
How much and who paid it
Who was He and what was His name?
If you heard that His name was called Jesus
Would you say that the price was too dear?
Held to the cross not by nails but by love
It was you broke His heart, not the spear!
Would you say you are worth what it cost Him?
You say ‘no’, but the price stays the same.
If it don’t make you cry, laugh it off, pass Him by,
But just remember the day when you throw it away
That He paid what He thought you were worth.
How much do you think He is worth, boy?
Will anyone stand up and say?
Tell me, what are you willing to give Him
In return for the price that He paid?
Graham Kendrick
Copyright © 1974 Make Way Music
Hear it.
Below are the lyrics to the song and a link to where you can hear it performed by the original artist (I prefer the version of my friend who introduced me to the song, but she's not on the Internet...)
You'll need Real Audio Player to listen.
How Much Do You Think You Are Worth?
Is a rich man worth more than a poor man?
A stranger worth less than a friend?
Is a baby worth more than an old man?
Your beginning worth more than your end?
Is a president worth more than his assassin?
Does your value decrease with your crime?
Like when Christ took the place of Barabbas
Would you say he was wasting his time?
Well, how much do you think you are worth, boy?
Will anyone stand up and say?
Would you say that a man is worth nothing
Until someone is willing to pay?
I suppose that you think you matter
Well, how much do you matter to whom?
It’s much easier at night when with friends and bright lights
Than much later alone in your room
Do you think they’ll miss one in a billion
When you finish this old human race?
Does it really make much of a difference
When your friends have forgotten your face?
If you heard that your life had been valued
That a price had been paid on the nail
Would you ask what was traded,
How much and who paid it
Who was He and what was His name?
If you heard that His name was called Jesus
Would you say that the price was too dear?
Held to the cross not by nails but by love
It was you broke His heart, not the spear!
Would you say you are worth what it cost Him?
You say ‘no’, but the price stays the same.
If it don’t make you cry, laugh it off, pass Him by,
But just remember the day when you throw it away
That He paid what He thought you were worth.
How much do you think He is worth, boy?
Will anyone stand up and say?
Tell me, what are you willing to give Him
In return for the price that He paid?
Graham Kendrick
Copyright © 1974 Make Way Music
Hear it.
Today's Message from Opus Dei
In Opus Dei, they speak of the "heroic moment"--that first moment of
the day when you awake and must choose whether to hit the snooze
button or start the day. They consider it a heroic act to mortify
oneself ("die to self") by getting up immediately and offering your
day to the Lord.
If this is indeed a measure of heroism, I am a villain whose perfidy
may never be fully plumbed.
All kidding aside, I did manage somehow to get out of bed at an
early-esque hour today and I found this in my inbox. Once again, I
think it's good advice.
the day when you awake and must choose whether to hit the snooze
button or start the day. They consider it a heroic act to mortify
oneself ("die to self") by getting up immediately and offering your
day to the Lord.
If this is indeed a measure of heroism, I am a villain whose perfidy
may never be fully plumbed.
All kidding aside, I did manage somehow to get out of bed at an
early-esque hour today and I found this in my inbox. Once again, I
think it's good advice.
MESSAGE
October 23, 2007
"Practice meditation for a fixed period and at a fixed time"
Practice meditation for a fixed period and at a fixed time. Otherwise
we would be putting our own convenience first; that would be a lack of
mortification. And prayer without mortification is not at all
effective. (Furrow, 446)
Overcome any sluggishness you may feel, and the false excuse that
prayer can wait for later. Let us never put off this vital source of
grace until tomorrow. Now is the right time. God, who is a loving
spectator of everything we do, watches over our most intimate needs.
You and I, I tell you once again, we need to confide in him as we
might confide in a brother, a friend, a father. Tell him, as I am
telling him now, that he is all greatness, all goodness, all mercy.
Tell him also, 'This is why I want to fall in love with you, despite
my rough manner and poor hands, soiled and ill‑treated by the dust and
grime of this earth'...
Each day without fail we should devote some time specially to God,
raising our minds to him, without any need for the words to come to
our lips, for they are being sung in our heart. Let us give enough
time to this devout practice; at a fixed hour, if possible. Before the
Tabernacle, close to him who has remained there out of Love. If this
is not possible, we can pray anywhere because our God is ineffably
present in the heart of every soul in grace. (Friends of God, 246.249)
Sunday, October 21, 2007
New Pics of Kids
Our friend Alishia took some pictures of our family this weekend. I like this one of the two brothers. If you follow the link below you should be able to get to the others.
I recently came across recordings of Hillaire Belloc singing and it made me think about the lost art of bar singing and whimsical versification. So I've been trying to write very, very light verse every day as a sort of grown-up recess activity. Here's the latest:
Seriously, though I think it's high time for a national pub singing movement. Local chapters could be called wePods and meetings could consist of singing and drinking beer and burgundy (but not too much). Every week the lad with the most original/most singable song gets to drink for free.
In the spirit of this, I've composed a drinking song about a man who's been betrayed by his chum:
Here are some other poem-ettes I've written recently:
Now, remember: these are not meant to be good or profound--they're meant to be recess. Also, I'm pretty sure they'll sound better after a few drinks. The image above is from these guys.
Cheers!
Click on the picture of Annamaria above to see more pix.
Ah, three years old, that magical age. I find it odd that all my children go through what I like to call "a Jurassic Park" phase. Remember the cute little dinosaurs that suddenly eat the fat guy? That's kinda how my kids are when they hit three. It goes away, but Joseph has a few scars from Annamaria that might not...
If you need reminding:
What can they mean when they say that we must not put militarism into boys? Can we by any possibility get militarism out of boys? You might burn it out with red-hot irons; you might eventually scourge it out as if it were a mediaeval devil; but except you employ the most poignant form of actual persecution, you certainly will not prevent little boys thinking about soldiers, talking about soldiers, and pretending that they are soldiers. You may mortify and macerate this feeling in them if you like, just as you may mortify and macerate their love of comrades, or their love of wandering…
A child’s instinct is almost perfect in the matter of fighting; a child always stands for the good militarism as against the bad. The child’s hero is always the man or boy who defends himself suddenly and splendidly against aggression. The child’s hero is never the man or boy who attempts by his mere personal force to extend his mere personal influence… To put the matter shortly, the boy feels an abysmal difference between conquest and victory. Conquest has the sound of something cold and heavy; the automatic operations of a powerful army. Victory has the sound of something sudden and valiant; victory is like a cry out of a living mouth. The child is excited with victory; he is bored with conquest. The child is not an Imperialist; the child is a Jingo – which is excellent. The child is not a militarist in the heavy, mechanical modern sense; the child is a fighter. Only very old and very wicked people can be militarists in the modern sense. Only very old and very wicked people can be peace-at-any-price men. The child’s instincts are quite clean and chivalrous, though perhaps a little exaggerated.
But really to talk of this small human creature, who never picks up an umbrella without trying to use it as a sword, who will hardly read a book in which there is no fighting, who out of the Bible itself generally remembers the ‘bluggy’ parts, who never walks down the garden without imagining himself to be stuck all over with swords and daggers – to take this human creature and talk about the wickedness of teaching him to be military, seems rather a wild piece of humour. He has already not only the tradition of fighting, but a far manlier and more genial tradition of fighting than our own. No; I am not in favour of the child being taught militarism. I am in favour of the child teaching it.
- The Illustrated London News, 20 October 1906.
Amy and the kids are on vacation in Pinewood/Munds Park, AZ just a few miles outside of Flagstaff. I'm mooching bandwidth from a neighbor to work remotely. So far, we're tired.
Olivia and I went for a picture walk today and snapped photos of anything that caught our fancies. She was really cute about the whole thing, but still has a long way to go...
We picked up Joseph and Sophia from drama camp and Joseph got jealous of Olivia with the camera. He took it upon himself to make things right and relieved his sister of the camera so he could take some pix himself. Both of their work is represented in the slideshow, as is mine.
I like photography. I think I'm pretty good, too, but there's a lot to learn to be great and I don't want to make that investment. If, however, a reader wishes to purchase a wide angle lens for my Canon Digital Rebel that reader would be heartily thanked...
Sophia got a main part in the play. She's Baghera in Jungle Book. Joseph has been cast as an elephant, but he wanted to be a monkey. I told him it wouldn't be acting if he was cast as a monkey
God is good.
His name is Steven Pressfield and he's been kicking my ass for over an hour.
My new friend Mark of the Kindlings turned me on to Pressfield at our last writer's meeting. I got the CD of his book The War of Art at the library and have been listening to him describe all my bad habits as if he knew me. It's a bit spooky.
I'm about a third of the way through the book and it's very good. He writes very directly, in a no-bullshit manner. So far he's spent a lot of time talking about what he calls "Resistance". This is a term he applies to anything that keeps us from doing our work. As far as I can tell, Resistance is roughly equivalent to Freud's thanatos impulse, or Death Wish, that force in our lives that moves us toward death and not life. The life force (Freud calls it eros) pushes us out of the comfortable womb, through pain to life. Thanatos moves against this, seeking pleasure that ultimatley leads to death. You can imagine the deadly effects of trying to be a grown man inside a womb.
Pressfield says that there are a million ways that Resistance can manifest itself--writer's block, illness, addiction, drama--but it must always be combatted by doing one's work, what one was put on the planet to do.
He seems to be headed toward Mother Theresa's "faithfulness, not success" comibined with a heaping helping of Josemaria Escriva's philosophy of work. I'll keep you posted.
This is a picture of the beautiful woman responsible for blessing/genetically rescuing the children whose images you see littered throughout this blog. She is the finest woman I know. Most people are mystified by her decision to consort with likes of me (I include myself in that number), but she does, and I'm keeping her.
Chesterton says that limiting yourself to one woman is a small price to pay for the privilege of being able to see one at all. He was thinking of my wife when he wrote that.
He also had this to say about the "drudgery" of motherhood. It applies equally well:
This is worth reading: Making Babies: A Very Different Look at Natural Family Planning
This picture is framed in my office. My sister-in-law-in-law Pat took this when we were in Italy. Have you ever seen a cuter picture?
Joseph is a funny kid with a funny sense of "cool". Notice how he's dressed for the hottest day of the year (114F): long sleeves, long pants, one glove.
In the other picture, the "lazy eye" look he's going for was deliberate. "Remember, Papi? Trevor did this? It's cool."
by alishialinn
© All rights reserved
Just follow this link to see the photos:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/alishiahanson/sets/72157602590972643/
(If the link doesn't work, try copying and pasting it from this email into your browser's address bar.)
“God does not lose battles”
I get a daily email from that nefarious organization known as Opus Dei. Below I've copied the email reflection I got yesterday in the mail.
I don't think it's especially profound, but I do think it is indicative of the manly nature of St. Josemaria's advice. For a guy like me who tends to beat himself up when he falls, this stuff is really encouraging.
For a while I was getting a daily reflection from another religious order and it was good, but Escriva's words seem to always have more depth, wisdom, and virility than the other group's.
When I went to my first Opus Dei meeting 5 or 6 years ago, I told the friend who invited me that I had never experienced anything like it. "That was the drumstick of faith," I quipped. "There wasn't an ounce of fat on it. No red punch, no 'hi-how-are-ya's--just strong meat and Grace. Wow." I still feel like that.
The image that's not displaying is the Opus Dei logo.
I don't think it's especially profound, but I do think it is indicative of the manly nature of St. Josemaria's advice. For a guy like me who tends to beat himself up when he falls, this stuff is really encouraging.
For a while I was getting a daily reflection from another religious order and it was good, but Escriva's words seem to always have more depth, wisdom, and virility than the other group's.
When I went to my first Opus Dei meeting 5 or 6 years ago, I told the friend who invited me that I had never experienced anything like it. "That was the drumstick of faith," I quipped. "There wasn't an ounce of fat on it. No red punch, no 'hi-how-are-ya's--just strong meat and Grace. Wow." I still feel like that.
The image that's not displaying is the Opus Dei logo.
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
14 Minutes, 40 Seconds Remaining...
My fifteen minutes of fame is slowly getting eaten up.
Today I got an email from Dappled Things informing me that I'm officially published.
Dappled Things is an online (now print as well) literary magazine for young Catholic writers/artists. As of my next birthday, I am no longer a young Catholic (I turn 36 this year). So, this was my last chance to get in.
My poem is called "Bread from Heaven". I hope you enjoy it.
Today I got an email from Dappled Things informing me that I'm officially published.
Dappled Things is an online (now print as well) literary magazine for young Catholic writers/artists. As of my next birthday, I am no longer a young Catholic (I turn 36 this year). So, this was my last chance to get in.
My poem is called "Bread from Heaven". I hope you enjoy it.
Monday, October 1, 2007
The Pitter Patter of Tiny Feasts
One of the best things about being a Catholic is that there's always a reason to celebrate. This week alone our family will be celebrating 3 special feast days. Today is the feast of St. Therese of Lisieux. This day is special to our Olivia Therese and she's loving living it up. Tomorrow is the feast of guardian angels, which we all have (Sophia claims she has two) and Thursday is the feast of St. Francis of Assisi--one of Annamaria Francesca's patron saints.
There are a million ways we can honor our saints and reflect on their good examples. Today we let Olivia eat off of our "You Are Special" plate and Amy made a crumb cake; tomorrow we might have angel food cake; Thursday we're eating Italian and the kids are stripping of all their clothes in public like St. Francis.
Another good thing is that we have the kids' saints to back us up on discipline/family issues. For example:
At the moment, Max (named after Maximilan Kolbe) is perfect and, like his patron, dotes on his mother. Eventually though he'll need to be punished and then we'll let him know that his patron was martyred in prison so "Time Out" is really an opportunity to emulate his role model.
Anyway, find out who your saints are and then make a big deal about it. We do it and we love it.
There are a million ways we can honor our saints and reflect on their good examples. Today we let Olivia eat off of our "You Are Special" plate and Amy made a crumb cake; tomorrow we might have angel food cake; Thursday we're eating Italian and the kids are stripping of all their clothes in public like St. Francis.
Another good thing is that we have the kids' saints to back us up on discipline/family issues. For example:
"Olivia! Do you think St. Therese ate with her fingers??"
"Sophia, why can't you be more like St. Clare and embrace poverty and fashion-backwardness?"
"Joseph! There's no way the foster father of our Lord would condone hitting girls."
"Annamaria! Seriously, kid, there's no way Mamma Mary was this stubborn."
At the moment, Max (named after Maximilan Kolbe) is perfect and, like his patron, dotes on his mother. Eventually though he'll need to be punished and then we'll let him know that his patron was martyred in prison so "Time Out" is really an opportunity to emulate his role model.
Anyway, find out who your saints are and then make a big deal about it. We do it and we love it.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Domestic Safari Update
I don't have time for a long field report today. (Actually, I never have time...) I just thought I'd share a few things that struck me as funny/telling about my kids.
First, my son Joseph is on a "little league" soccer team called the Knights. This, however, is not the name he and his friend Petey lobbied for. They wanted "The Bloodsuckers". I think that's a terrifying name for a soccer team--what is this, professional wrestling? Can you imagine a horde of 7-8 year old boys screaming down the field in KISS make-up? It seriously scares the poo out of me.
Maybe they were playing off the homophony between soccer/sucker--if I go with that, does my boy sound a little more literate? Or maybe it was veiled protest against corporate team sponsorship? The back of their shirts might then read "The Bloodsuckers/Smith and Jones Accounting" or something like that...
Second, last night was, in my wife's words, "a little miracle". Why? Because the kids all played together in peace. The irony here is that their peaceful activity was creating and naming all sorts of Lego weapons. My daughter, sweet Sophia of the hook-hand dreams, was chirping out all kinds of horrific names for their creations:
That last one gave me some hope that my kids weren't hopelessly morbid, but then I remembered that Romeo met his demise in a double suicide. Perhaps we should feed them Quaker Oats in hopes that they'll develop pacifist tendencies.
On a happier note, when I told Olivia that she could make other things besides weapons with her Legos, she lovingly told me that she'd make me a flower once she was finished with her "space guns".
I should probably read this again. Which, by the way, is a post that was commented upon by somebody in New Zealand. (If you're still visiting, we should arrange a house-swap vacation or something. I live near the biggest hole in the world and you live near Hobbits...)
In my next field report I'll write about the new self-defense courses my son Max (9 months old tomorrow) is offering his siblings and I might also discuss the new class I'm offering at our parish, Monday School.
First, my son Joseph is on a "little league" soccer team called the Knights. This, however, is not the name he and his friend Petey lobbied for. They wanted "The Bloodsuckers". I think that's a terrifying name for a soccer team--what is this, professional wrestling? Can you imagine a horde of 7-8 year old boys screaming down the field in KISS make-up? It seriously scares the poo out of me.
Maybe they were playing off the homophony between soccer/sucker--if I go with that, does my boy sound a little more literate? Or maybe it was veiled protest against corporate team sponsorship? The back of their shirts might then read "The Bloodsuckers/Smith and Jones Accounting" or something like that...
Second, last night was, in my wife's words, "a little miracle". Why? Because the kids all played together in peace. The irony here is that their peaceful activity was creating and naming all sorts of Lego weapons. My daughter, sweet Sophia of the hook-hand dreams, was chirping out all kinds of horrific names for their creations:
Pursuit of Darkness
Day of Doom
Bloody Bud
Romeo
That last one gave me some hope that my kids weren't hopelessly morbid, but then I remembered that Romeo met his demise in a double suicide. Perhaps we should feed them Quaker Oats in hopes that they'll develop pacifist tendencies.
On a happier note, when I told Olivia that she could make other things besides weapons with her Legos, she lovingly told me that she'd make me a flower once she was finished with her "space guns".
I should probably read this again. Which, by the way, is a post that was commented upon by somebody in New Zealand. (If you're still visiting, we should arrange a house-swap vacation or something. I live near the biggest hole in the world and you live near Hobbits...)
In my next field report I'll write about the new self-defense courses my son Max (9 months old tomorrow) is offering his siblings and I might also discuss the new class I'm offering at our parish, Monday School.
Sluggard's Lament
O Lord, in your wisdom you've shown me
something that I often forget--
I like to wake up in the morning
when it's dark out and flowers are wet.
In quiet, I eat and I praise thee
In silence, I write and I pray
but, still, Lord your wisdom evades me:
why send mornings so soon in the day?
something that I often forget--
I like to wake up in the morning
when it's dark out and flowers are wet.
In quiet, I eat and I praise thee
In silence, I write and I pray
but, still, Lord your wisdom evades me:
why send mornings so soon in the day?
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Born to be Mild
For the record, I can't drink to save my life. I like beer and wine, but they don't like me. I consider this a pretty major flaw in my otherwise Chestertonian constitution, but we all have our crosses to bear...
One of my favorite poem-ettes is from Hillaire Belloc:
Wherever the Catholic sun doth shine,
There's always laughter and good red wine.
At least I've always thought it so,
Benedicamus Domino.
So my apology for not being able to drink ad hiliaritatum (Aquinas):
I'm much more of a thinker
than I am a drinker.
But I am an advocate
of getting one's dry whistle wet.
One of my favorite poem-ettes is from Hillaire Belloc:
Wherever the Catholic sun doth shine,
There's always laughter and good red wine.
At least I've always thought it so,
Benedicamus Domino.
So my apology for not being able to drink ad hiliaritatum (Aquinas):
I'm much more of a thinker
than I am a drinker.
But I am an advocate
of getting one's dry whistle wet.
Alarmed
As I awoke, all thick and groggy,
my morning thoughts were still quite foggy.
And I considered from my bed
how I would feel if I were dead.
But at that moment it occurred,
"If I were dead, I'd not've stirred."
Alarmed with insight into life,
I snoozed the clock and hugged my wife.
my morning thoughts were still quite foggy.
And I considered from my bed
how I would feel if I were dead.
But at that moment it occurred,
"If I were dead, I'd not've stirred."
Alarmed with insight into life,
I snoozed the clock and hugged my wife.
Irish Advice/A Toast
Drink a Guinness, then Recite (in your best brogue):
Drink 'til you're merry
and not 'til you're bad.
Then, when you're buried,
all will feel sad.
None will regret sharing with you his liquor.
and you might get prayed out of Purg'tory quicker.
Drink 'til you're merry
and not 'til you're bad.
Then, when you're buried,
all will feel sad.
None will regret sharing with you his liquor.
and you might get prayed out of Purg'tory quicker.
Wine As Aquinas Recommends
St. Thomas with sincerity
said, "Drink until hilarity."
But if you drink much more than this,
you might become Anonymous.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
A little bit famous...
Apparently my vanity knows no bounds. This isn't a big deal, but I made it on someone else's blog...
14 minutes, 50 seconds of fame left...
14 minutes, 50 seconds of fame left...
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Drinking Songs and Poem-ettes
I recently came across recordings of Hillaire Belloc singing and it made me think about the lost art of bar singing and whimsical versification. So I've been trying to write very, very light verse every day as a sort of grown-up recess activity. Here's the latest:
I have a notion that this nation sorely needs to hear
more songs that are inspired by the drinking of good beer.
Not the raucous rock songs a piss-drunkard sometimes bellows,
but rather rousing choruses from blokes and their good fellows.
Seriously, though I think it's high time for a national pub singing movement. Local chapters could be called wePods and meetings could consist of singing and drinking beer and burgundy (but not too much). Every week the lad with the most original/most singable song gets to drink for free.
In the spirit of this, I've composed a drinking song about a man who's been betrayed by his chum:
I'll tip a pint to you, Old Friend, I'll tip a pint to you.
And, when I finish this one, I'll tip another, too.
For I remember you, Old Friend--yes, I remember you,
but I'm trying to forget ya, so, I'll drink until I do.
Here are some other poem-ettes I've written recently:
A Little Exercise
This is a little excercise
that I have under taken--
to practice writing verse until
the habit can't be shaken.
I wish to speak in couplets
and pithy epigrams
so that a rhyming rhythym
will capture who I am.
Two Men
The man who lives in ignorance
(through no fault of his own)
can claim a primal innocence
from sins he might have known.
But we call that man foolish
who will not seek wisdom.
'Cuz ignorant or schoolish,
an unwise man is dumb.
Bedtime
Going to bed at three,
is often a pleasure for me.
But getting back up at 6:30
makes all of my bones start to hurty.
Balls
I have so many balls up in the air
that I can't take the risk of looking down.
So even though I'm juggling with care,
I sometimes slip on marbles on the ground.
Now, remember: these are not meant to be good or profound--they're meant to be recess. Also, I'm pretty sure they'll sound better after a few drinks. The image above is from these guys.
Cheers!
Monday, August 27, 2007
Of Hooks and Mirrors
I called this blog the Natalist Diaries because I wanted it to be a sort of field journal of my domestic safari. Home, as my man GK puts it, is “the one wild place in the world of rules and set tasks.” Truer words were never spoken. This morning the Queen informed me of some very strange goings on indeed.
Apparently, my eldest daughter, Sophia has been having nightmares. She’s always struggled with being fearful at night, but this time her fear is so outrageous (even for her) that I had to comment on it.
Two nights ago, Sophia crawls into our bed apologizing to Amy for the dream she just had (this is a quality of her first-born, “I-have-to-be-perfect-and-never-do-anything-that-might displease-my-parents” constitution).
What elevates this incident from the mundane to the ridiculous is that Sophia kept asking Amy if Olivia had a hook for hand all the next day.
This is life with Sophia, our little actress. She’s an amazing kid—smart, funny, kind, beautiful, fashionable—but everything that happens to her is so the drama, all the time.
The funny thing about this hook-for-a-hand farce is that it really isn’t about Olivia, it’s about Sophia. What would she ever do with hook-handed little sister? This is just another of countless examples of her unselfconscious ego-centricism. She’s completely oblivious to her narcissism.
Sometimes she’ll come in at night, worried about kidnappers.
I always like to chime in at this point.
Silence.
What amazes me is that as crazy as my kids can be, they always hold a mirror to my own irrationality. It seems each of our kids embodies some of the good and bad traits of Mama and Papi. This makes for a pretty entertaining home life, but it also serves as looking glass for the Queen and me to see our own faults and strengths.
In Sophia, I see so many of my irrational fears and so much of my unwitting selfishness; but, thanks be to God, I also see such a desire for goodness and so much beauty, creativity, and trust.
Apparently, my eldest daughter, Sophia has been having nightmares. She’s always struggled with being fearful at night, but this time her fear is so outrageous (even for her) that I had to comment on it.
Two nights ago, Sophia crawls into our bed apologizing to Amy for the dream she just had (this is a quality of her first-born, “I-have-to-be-perfect-and-never-do-anything-that-might displease-my-parents” constitution).
“Don’t get mad at me,” she whimpers, “but does Olivia have a hook for a hand?” (Olivia is our two-handed third child.)
“No, sweetie, Olivia doesn’t have a hook for hand.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m pretty sure.”
What elevates this incident from the mundane to the ridiculous is that Sophia kept asking Amy if Olivia had a hook for hand all the next day.
“Mama, are you sure she doesn’t have a hook for a hand?”
“Sophia, she’s standing right there. Look at her HANDS.”
“Okay, Mama, but are you sure?”
This is life with Sophia, our little actress. She’s an amazing kid—smart, funny, kind, beautiful, fashionable—but everything that happens to her is so the drama, all the time.
The funny thing about this hook-for-a-hand farce is that it really isn’t about Olivia, it’s about Sophia. What would she ever do with hook-handed little sister? This is just another of countless examples of her unselfconscious ego-centricism. She’s completely oblivious to her narcissism.
Sometimes she’ll come in at night, worried about kidnappers.
“Mama, are you sure no one’s going to come and steal me through the window?”
“Yes, Sophia. I’m sure.”
I always like to chime in at this point.
“Sophia, why would someone want to steal you? Think about it: why would a bad guy break into your window, which has a locked shutter and a chest of drawers pushed up against it, just to steal the heaviest, most verbal kid in the family? The baby’s in the room next to yours and he’s way more portable than you are and far more likely to forget about Mama and Papi as he grows up poor in a dirty trailer park with desperate, unfashionable, kid-stealing foster parents.”
Silence.
“Mama, are you sure no bad guys are going to take me?”
What amazes me is that as crazy as my kids can be, they always hold a mirror to my own irrationality. It seems each of our kids embodies some of the good and bad traits of Mama and Papi. This makes for a pretty entertaining home life, but it also serves as looking glass for the Queen and me to see our own faults and strengths.
In Sophia, I see so many of my irrational fears and so much of my unwitting selfishness; but, thanks be to God, I also see such a desire for goodness and so much beauty, creativity, and trust.
Saturday, August 4, 2007
Something to shoot for...
We watched this at our writer's meeting today. It was really worth the time.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Annamaria Turned 3!
 |
| Annamaria' |
Click on the picture of Annamaria above to see more pix.
Ah, three years old, that magical age. I find it odd that all my children go through what I like to call "a Jurassic Park" phase. Remember the cute little dinosaurs that suddenly eat the fat guy? That's kinda how my kids are when they hit three. It goes away, but Joseph has a few scars from Annamaria that might not...
If you need reminding:
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Apparently, Chesterton has met my son...
What can they mean when they say that we must not put militarism into boys? Can we by any possibility get militarism out of boys? You might burn it out with red-hot irons; you might eventually scourge it out as if it were a mediaeval devil; but except you employ the most poignant form of actual persecution, you certainly will not prevent little boys thinking about soldiers, talking about soldiers, and pretending that they are soldiers. You may mortify and macerate this feeling in them if you like, just as you may mortify and macerate their love of comrades, or their love of wandering…
A child’s instinct is almost perfect in the matter of fighting; a child always stands for the good militarism as against the bad. The child’s hero is always the man or boy who defends himself suddenly and splendidly against aggression. The child’s hero is never the man or boy who attempts by his mere personal force to extend his mere personal influence… To put the matter shortly, the boy feels an abysmal difference between conquest and victory. Conquest has the sound of something cold and heavy; the automatic operations of a powerful army. Victory has the sound of something sudden and valiant; victory is like a cry out of a living mouth. The child is excited with victory; he is bored with conquest. The child is not an Imperialist; the child is a Jingo – which is excellent. The child is not a militarist in the heavy, mechanical modern sense; the child is a fighter. Only very old and very wicked people can be militarists in the modern sense. Only very old and very wicked people can be peace-at-any-price men. The child’s instincts are quite clean and chivalrous, though perhaps a little exaggerated.
But really to talk of this small human creature, who never picks up an umbrella without trying to use it as a sword, who will hardly read a book in which there is no fighting, who out of the Bible itself generally remembers the ‘bluggy’ parts, who never walks down the garden without imagining himself to be stuck all over with swords and daggers – to take this human creature and talk about the wickedness of teaching him to be military, seems rather a wild piece of humour. He has already not only the tradition of fighting, but a far manlier and more genial tradition of fighting than our own. No; I am not in favour of the child being taught militarism. I am in favour of the child teaching it.
- The Illustrated London News, 20 October 1906.
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Mes Aïeux - Dégénération (English Subtitles)
This song made me sad. Maybe I'll write more about it later. My family is French Canadian way back and this song makes me think of what my great-great grandparents were like. It is supposedly the number one song downloaded in Quebec.
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
Book Review: The War of Art
A couple of posts ago I mentioned that I was reading a book by Steven Pressfield called The War of Art. In this post, I want to briefly review and reflect on the book, but, just enough to “free the prisoners” of my thoughts on the book; this is not the definitive review/interpretation of the book. I am very interested in hearing what other readers think, so please comment on this post.
The book’s title is obviously a play on the title of Wesley Snipes’s movie, er...Sun Tzu’s book, The Art of War and it is a particularly fitting title for a book on writing by a man whose body of work consists mostly of historical war novels set in ancient times. Like Sun Tzu’s book, The War of Art presents very practical, very solid, straightforward advice about its subject; like the Wesley Snipes movie, the appeal wears off rapidly and the last third is barely coherent.
In the first part of the book Pressfield introduces a concept he calls “Resistance”, which is broadly defined as anything that keeps us from our work. Our work, Pressfield says, is what we were meant to do on this planet. Don’t read that wrong. He’s not saying that we’re called to be ants in a hive, he’s saying that each us has a particular job to do, a special vocation. For some, it could be writing; for others it could be painting or starting a business or being a mom. Our work is the thing that we are uniquely suited for and that we must do for our own sake and the sake of the universe. We avoid this work at our peril. Resistance is anything and everything that we put in the way of doing our work. It’s all the excuses, neuroses, diseases, relationships, and rationalizations that we give in to instead of doing what we’re supposed to.
His litany of the many ways Resistance manifests itself was easily the best part of the book. It was, if you’ll forgive the expression, shock and awe. I was had like Bagdad. He named every one of my evasions and left me with nowhere to run. He kicked my ass. And his recommendation for overcoming Resistance is tough love at its finest. Basically, his advice is “Man up, Nancy. Get over yourself and do your work.” So far, so good, but then the book starts to go wonky.
Pressfield is dead on target about what’s wrong with most writers, artists, and people: we are afraid of our own potential greatness so we sabotage ourselves. Everything he says about Resistance rings true, even if the term itself is inexact. What he has to say about muses and the gods (they’re real…kinda), the evolution of man (we are inexorably getting better), and God (a.k.a. the Universe), does not ring true. It rings inconsistent and potlucky. The world view he proposes as response to Resistance is a syncretistic, new-agey mess.
For Pressfield, art comes from resisting Resistance and doing one’s work. The manly advice he gives at the beginning of the book seems to be heavily influenced by his study of ancient Sparta and stoics. That’s fine as far as it goes, but what is glaringly absent (at least from this Catholic’s point of view) is a sense of grace. His notion of cooperating with the muses is profound, but not as profound as Tolkien’s idea of man as sub-creator. His notion of work is noble, but not as noble as Josemaria Escriva’s.
To sum it all up, I recommend this book, especially the first two thirds, but with reservations. For anyone who is used to exact terms and a consistent worldview, this might be a bit tiring—it was for me. But for anyone who needs a good kick in the pants to start writing, working, starting a photography business and getting out of the corporate world, this is a great motivator.
The book’s title is obviously a play on the title of Wesley Snipes’s movie, er...Sun Tzu’s book, The Art of War and it is a particularly fitting title for a book on writing by a man whose body of work consists mostly of historical war novels set in ancient times. Like Sun Tzu’s book, The War of Art presents very practical, very solid, straightforward advice about its subject; like the Wesley Snipes movie, the appeal wears off rapidly and the last third is barely coherent.
In the first part of the book Pressfield introduces a concept he calls “Resistance”, which is broadly defined as anything that keeps us from our work. Our work, Pressfield says, is what we were meant to do on this planet. Don’t read that wrong. He’s not saying that we’re called to be ants in a hive, he’s saying that each us has a particular job to do, a special vocation. For some, it could be writing; for others it could be painting or starting a business or being a mom. Our work is the thing that we are uniquely suited for and that we must do for our own sake and the sake of the universe. We avoid this work at our peril. Resistance is anything and everything that we put in the way of doing our work. It’s all the excuses, neuroses, diseases, relationships, and rationalizations that we give in to instead of doing what we’re supposed to.
His litany of the many ways Resistance manifests itself was easily the best part of the book. It was, if you’ll forgive the expression, shock and awe. I was had like Bagdad. He named every one of my evasions and left me with nowhere to run. He kicked my ass. And his recommendation for overcoming Resistance is tough love at its finest. Basically, his advice is “Man up, Nancy. Get over yourself and do your work.” So far, so good, but then the book starts to go wonky.
Pressfield is dead on target about what’s wrong with most writers, artists, and people: we are afraid of our own potential greatness so we sabotage ourselves. Everything he says about Resistance rings true, even if the term itself is inexact. What he has to say about muses and the gods (they’re real…kinda), the evolution of man (we are inexorably getting better), and God (a.k.a. the Universe), does not ring true. It rings inconsistent and potlucky. The world view he proposes as response to Resistance is a syncretistic, new-agey mess.
For Pressfield, art comes from resisting Resistance and doing one’s work. The manly advice he gives at the beginning of the book seems to be heavily influenced by his study of ancient Sparta and stoics. That’s fine as far as it goes, but what is glaringly absent (at least from this Catholic’s point of view) is a sense of grace. His notion of cooperating with the muses is profound, but not as profound as Tolkien’s idea of man as sub-creator. His notion of work is noble, but not as noble as Josemaria Escriva’s.
To sum it all up, I recommend this book, especially the first two thirds, but with reservations. For anyone who is used to exact terms and a consistent worldview, this might be a bit tiring—it was for me. But for anyone who needs a good kick in the pants to start writing, working, starting a photography business and getting out of the corporate world, this is a great motivator.
Monday, July 2, 2007
Some Pictures from Pinewood, AZ
Amy and the kids are on vacation in Pinewood/Munds Park, AZ just a few miles outside of Flagstaff. I'm mooching bandwidth from a neighbor to work remotely. So far, we're tired.
Olivia and I went for a picture walk today and snapped photos of anything that caught our fancies. She was really cute about the whole thing, but still has a long way to go...
We picked up Joseph and Sophia from drama camp and Joseph got jealous of Olivia with the camera. He took it upon himself to make things right and relieved his sister of the camera so he could take some pix himself. Both of their work is represented in the slideshow, as is mine.
I like photography. I think I'm pretty good, too, but there's a lot to learn to be great and I don't want to make that investment. If, however, a reader wishes to purchase a wide angle lens for my Canon Digital Rebel that reader would be heartily thanked...
Sophia got a main part in the play. She's Baghera in Jungle Book. Joseph has been cast as an elephant, but he wanted to be a monkey. I told him it wouldn't be acting if he was cast as a monkey
God is good.
Friday, June 29, 2007
Mom My Ride
Here is a funny little video that my wife's friends were passing around for a while. Enjoy!
Do You Know This Man?
His name is Steven Pressfield and he's been kicking my ass for over an hour.
My new friend Mark of the Kindlings turned me on to Pressfield at our last writer's meeting. I got the CD of his book The War of Art at the library and have been listening to him describe all my bad habits as if he knew me. It's a bit spooky.
I'm about a third of the way through the book and it's very good. He writes very directly, in a no-bullshit manner. So far he's spent a lot of time talking about what he calls "Resistance". This is a term he applies to anything that keeps us from doing our work. As far as I can tell, Resistance is roughly equivalent to Freud's thanatos impulse, or Death Wish, that force in our lives that moves us toward death and not life. The life force (Freud calls it eros) pushes us out of the comfortable womb, through pain to life. Thanatos moves against this, seeking pleasure that ultimatley leads to death. You can imagine the deadly effects of trying to be a grown man inside a womb.
Pressfield says that there are a million ways that Resistance can manifest itself--writer's block, illness, addiction, drama--but it must always be combatted by doing one's work, what one was put on the planet to do.
He seems to be headed toward Mother Theresa's "faithfulness, not success" comibined with a heaping helping of Josemaria Escriva's philosophy of work. I'll keep you posted.
The Queen
This is a picture of the beautiful woman responsible for blessing/genetically rescuing the children whose images you see littered throughout this blog. She is the finest woman I know. Most people are mystified by her decision to consort with likes of me (I include myself in that number), but she does, and I'm keeping her.
Chesterton says that limiting yourself to one woman is a small price to pay for the privilege of being able to see one at all. He was thinking of my wife when he wrote that.
He also had this to say about the "drudgery" of motherhood. It applies equally well:
To be Queen Elizabeth within a definite area, deciding sales, banquets, labors, and holidays; to be Whitely within a certain area, providing toys, sheets, cakes, and books; to be Aristotle within a certain area, teaching morals, manners, theology, and hygiene; I can understand how this might exhaust the mind, but I cannot imagine how it could narrow it. How can it be a large career to tell other people's children about the Rule of Three, and a small career to tell one's own children about the universe? How can it be broad to be the same thing to everyone and narrow to be everything to someone? No, a woman's function is laborious, but because it is gigantic, not because it is minute.
--"The Emancipation of Domesticity" from Chesterton's 1910 classic What's Wrong with the World.
The Defense of Christianity
"You cannot evade the issue of God, whether you talk about pigs or the
binomial theory, you are still talking about Him. Now if Christianity
be. . . a fragment of metaphysical nonsense invented by a few people,
then, of course, defending it will simply mean talking that
metaphysical nonsense over and over. But if Christianity should happen
to be true - then defending it may mean talking about anything or
everything. Things can be irrelevant to the proposition that
Christianity is false, but nothing can be irrelevant to the
proposition that Christianity is true."
binomial theory, you are still talking about Him. Now if Christianity
be. . . a fragment of metaphysical nonsense invented by a few people,
then, of course, defending it will simply mean talking that
metaphysical nonsense over and over. But if Christianity should happen
to be true - then defending it may mean talking about anything or
everything. Things can be irrelevant to the proposition that
Christianity is false, but nothing can be irrelevant to the
proposition that Christianity is true."
G.K. Chesterton
Daily News December 12, 1903
Monday, June 25, 2007
Makes Good Better
Here is an outstanding little commercial that captures the Natalist philosophy quite nicely. Hat tip to Mamapajama.
Full Houses and Zip Codes
I met a guy after church on Sunday who also has 5 kids. I told him we both had full houses: mine is Queens full of Jacks, his is Jacks full of Queens. (At least I think that's how you say it. I've got 2 boys and 3 girls, he has the reverse.)
Anyway, I asked him if the kids were born at "NFP Spacing" (every two years). He said, "Almost exactly." I told him we were the same way, and he said something I'd never heard before: "Ah, you have a ZIP code, too."
I love it--a ZIP code: 86420. Sophia, Joseph, Olivia, Annamaria, Max.
This is worth reading: Making Babies: A Very Different Look at Natural Family Planning
Friday, June 22, 2007
Blessed R. Drapeau
So, I'm sitting around worrying about my finances, when this comes in the email:
That's uncanny, right?
Sophia keeps asking me if we're poor. I'm not sure what she thinks it means to be poor. I ask her if she's going without anything she needs, she says "no". I ask her if she's unhappy, she says "no". I ask her if she knows her Mama and Papi love her, she says "yes". I ask her if she loves her brothers and sisters and if they love her, she says "yes". I tell her that there are a lot of people with more money who can't answer those questions the same way, so, no, we're not poor. But she has eagle-ears (if there are such things) and always manages to overhear Mama and Papi talking about money. What a kid.
Anyway, rich we ain't. At least not in the "we-don't-look-at-price-tags" way. But, I've got half a dozen friends who love me like a brother, supportive parents and in-laws, cool siblings (including brothers-in-law and their wives), five amazing, beautiful, loving, and fun kids, and a wife whom future generations of women will pray to under the title of "St. Amy Elizabeth, Martyrfamilias". That's a lot.
Matthew 6: 24-34
Jesus said to his disciples: “No one can serve two masters; for a slave will either hate the one and love the other, or be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and wealth. "Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life? And why do you worry about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you--you of little faith? Therefore do not worry, saying, ´What will we eat?´ or ´What will we drink?´ or ´What will we wear?´ For it is the Gentiles who strive for all these things; and indeed your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. But strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. "So do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring worries of its own. Today´s trouble is enough for today.”
That's uncanny, right?
Sophia keeps asking me if we're poor. I'm not sure what she thinks it means to be poor. I ask her if she's going without anything she needs, she says "no". I ask her if she's unhappy, she says "no". I ask her if she knows her Mama and Papi love her, she says "yes". I ask her if she loves her brothers and sisters and if they love her, she says "yes". I tell her that there are a lot of people with more money who can't answer those questions the same way, so, no, we're not poor. But she has eagle-ears (if there are such things) and always manages to overhear Mama and Papi talking about money. What a kid.
Anyway, rich we ain't. At least not in the "we-don't-look-at-price-tags" way. But, I've got half a dozen friends who love me like a brother, supportive parents and in-laws, cool siblings (including brothers-in-law and their wives), five amazing, beautiful, loving, and fun kids, and a wife whom future generations of women will pray to under the title of "St. Amy Elizabeth, Martyrfamilias". That's a lot.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Olivia in Italy
This picture is framed in my office. My sister-in-law-in-law Pat took this when we were in Italy. Have you ever seen a cuter picture?
Joe Cool
Joseph is a funny kid with a funny sense of "cool". Notice how he's dressed for the hottest day of the year (114F): long sleeves, long pants, one glove.
In the other picture, the "lazy eye" look he's going for was deliberate. "Remember, Papi? Trevor did this? It's cool."
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Field of Flowers (Narnia the Musical)
Here is Sophia's big solo from Narnia. We are so proud of her!
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Eden
In every place, and at all times, a Garden flowers forth.
It blooms and blossoms, heaving hearts and earth,
cracking concrete, splitting stones, and penetrating asphalt,
it pushes life through every fractured surface.
It is here in the city of rough rooftops
and hardscaped valley ways and
there, by the shadowy factory
coughing out steel-belted air,
soot-covering dreams and
weighing down old widow’s conversations.
It is in a field, on a farm,
where young lovers sow secrets and
where the fresh freshness of
sun-blessed growing things lingers
like the smell of baked brown bread.
It is in salt-sprayed cottages by the sea
where misty maidens mend nets and men
cast glances, reeling
at the thought of just one kiss.
Wherever young Adam greets Eve with gratitude,
delighted by the suitableness of this woman,
Wherever, Eve, with laughter, receives her Man,
there is the Garden—their Garden— and
no curse, no thistle, no felonious foe
can choke this saxifrage seed.
Somewhere, someone is falling in love
tonight for the very first time
and there—like a buried promise—Paradise stirs.
RDD
2/07
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Gospel Reflection 2-13-07
Mark 8:14-21
The disciples had forgotten to bring bread, and they had only one loaf with them in the boat. Jesus enjoined them, "Watch out, guard against the leaven of the Pharisees and the leaven of Herod." They concluded among themselves that it was because they had no bread. When he became aware of this he said to them, "Why do you conclude that it is because you have no bread? Do you not yet understand or comprehend? Are your hearts hardened? Do you have eyes and not see, ears and not hear? And do you not remember, when I broke the five loaves for the five thousand, how many wicker baskets full of fragments you picked up?" They answered him, "Twelve." "When I broke the seven loaves for the four thousand, how many full baskets of fragments did you pick up?" They answered him, "Seven." He said to them, "Do you still not understand?"
My thoughts:
The disciples had forgotten to bring bread, and they had only one loaf with them in the boat. Jesus enjoined them, "Watch out, guard against the leaven of the Pharisees and the leaven of Herod." They concluded among themselves that it was because they had no bread. When he became aware of this he said to them, "Why do you conclude that it is because you have no bread? Do you not yet understand or comprehend? Are your hearts hardened? Do you have eyes and not see, ears and not hear? And do you not remember, when I broke the five loaves for the five thousand, how many wicker baskets full of fragments you picked up?" They answered him, "Twelve." "When I broke the seven loaves for the four thousand, how many full baskets of fragments did you pick up?" They answered him, "Seven." He said to them, "Do you still not understand?"
My thoughts:
- Forgot to bring bread?? Bull. They were getting lazy. Why should we bring bread? Our best friend can turn crickets into chicken and dumplings, why should we pack a lunch? How easy it is for us to forget to do our part. How strong is the pull of the Easy Way...
- The Easy Way manifests itself as the leaven of the Pharisees and Herod, too. It's funny, but it's true that it's easier to be super religious and put on airs and talk a lot about God than it is to really trust Him. It's easier to rely on daddy's money and power than to lean on Our Father in Heaven.
- When I think about the leaven of the Pharisees and Herod, I'm reminded of my former job. I got paid really well to teach at a "religious" school, but my soul was flat (the leaven there was no good). It took a long time for my eyes to see and my ears to hear that God had a better plan for me.
- "Why do you conclude that it is because you have no bread?" I'm sorry, but this question just seems like the kind of thing a wife would say to a husband. And it strikes me as pretty unfair. Of course, Jesus is right and Arowbee is wrong, so I have to read a little closer. Is Jesus saying that not having "bread" (money? food?) is not a curse? That poverty doesn't automatically lead to infidelity? It's interesting that there seems to be a line being walked between faith and presumption (if my first point has any merit). Interesting that Jesus wants to remember his miracles of abundance and still resist the false abundance of the Pharisees and Herod.
Monday, February 12, 2007
The Checkout Line
Yesterday at Costco I overheard a woman complaining that she was going to get in a particular line, but then "that guy jumped in front of me". I wasn't the guy, but I offered her my space in a different line (knight's code). She couldn't believe me and was a little embarrassed that I had overheard her. I told her it was no big deal to me, and that since she only had a few items, she could go ahead of me. She fussed a little, then quipped, "you must have a terrible home life." I told her I had an excellent homelife, but I was a little taken back by her cynical response.
So I killed her. (What's a Natalist Paterfamilias to do?)
So I killed her. (What's a Natalist Paterfamilias to do?)
Gospel Reflection 2-12-07
Mark 8:11-13
The Pharisees came forward and began to argue with Jesus, seeking from him a sign from heaven to test him. He sighed from the depth of his spirit and said, "Why does this generation seek a sign? Amen, I say to you, no sign will be given to this generation." Then he left them, got into the boat again, and went off to the other shore.
When I read this this morning I was reminded of one of the pseudo-smart high school students I used to teach. He argued that he wouldn't believe anything without proof and I countered that no proof was proof enough for him. He denied this, but when I asked him what it would take he said, "a sign". "Ok," I answered, "what if you looked at the night sky and found written in the stars: 'Dax, Believe in Me--God' Would you believe then?" "No. You can find anything you want in the stars."
Or anything you don't want.
The Pharisees came forward and began to argue with Jesus, seeking from him a sign from heaven to test him. He sighed from the depth of his spirit and said, "Why does this generation seek a sign? Amen, I say to you, no sign will be given to this generation." Then he left them, got into the boat again, and went off to the other shore.
When I read this this morning I was reminded of one of the pseudo-smart high school students I used to teach. He argued that he wouldn't believe anything without proof and I countered that no proof was proof enough for him. He denied this, but when I asked him what it would take he said, "a sign". "Ok," I answered, "what if you looked at the night sky and found written in the stars: 'Dax, Believe in Me--God' Would you believe then?" "No. You can find anything you want in the stars."
Or anything you don't want.
Thursday, February 1, 2007
Gospel Reflection 1-29-07
Mark 5: 1-20
1: They came to the other side of the sea, to the country of the Ger'asenes.
2: And when he had come out of the boat, there met him out of the tombs a man with an unclean spirit,
3: who lived among the tombs; and no one could bind him any more, even with a chain;
4: for he had often been bound with fetters and chains, but the chains he wrenched apart, and the fetters he broke in pieces; and no one had the strength to subdue him.
5: Night and day among the tombs and on the mountains he was always crying out, and bruising himself with stones.
6: And when he saw Jesus from afar, he ran and worshiped him;
7: and crying out with a loud voice, he said, "What have you to do with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God? I adjure you by God, do not torment me."
8: For he had said to him, "Come out of the man, you unclean spirit!"
9: And Jesus asked him, "What is your name?" He replied, "My name is Legion; for we are many."
10: And he begged him eagerly not to send them out of the country.
11: Now a great herd of swine was feeding there on the hillside;
12: and they begged him, "Send us to the swine, let us enter them."
13: So he gave them leave. And the unclean spirits came out, and entered the swine; and the herd, numbering about two thousand, rushed down the steep bank into the sea, and were drowned in the sea.
14: The herdsmen fled, and told it in the city and in the country. And people came to see what it was that had happened.
15: And they came to Jesus, and saw the demoniac sitting there, clothed and in his right mind, the man who had had the legion; and they were afraid.
16: And those who had seen it told what had happened to the demoniac and to the swine.
17: And they began to beg Jesus to depart from their neighborhood.
18: And as he was getting into the boat, the man who had been possessed with demons begged him that he might be with him.
19: But he refused, and said to him, "Go home to your friends, and tell them how much the Lord has done for you, and how he has had mercy on you."
20: And he went away and began to proclaim in the Decap'olis how much Jesus had done for him; and all men marveled.
My thoughts:
- I too just came back from the mountain with "Legion" (the Legionnaires of Christ) and I too would have loved to stay with Jesus, but I had to come home to my friends to tell them how much the Lord has done for me, and how he has mercy on me.
- How odd is the townspeople's reaction! It seems to me that they recognized God's power and his ability to know and cast out their demons but they didn't want him to do that. We have pet sins and we can choose to ignore them when there's a rabid wacko running around. It's a much different story when no longer have that extreme to measure ourselves against.
- How desolate must Hell be that these demons prefer swine to Hell.
Gospel Reflection 1-30-07
Mark 5: 21-43
21. And when Jesus had crossed again in the boat to the other side, a great crowd gathered about him; and he was beside the sea.
22. Then came one of the rulers of the synagogue, Ja'irus by name; and seeing him, he fell at his feet,
23. and besought him, saying, "My little daughter is at the point of death. Come and lay your hands on her, so that she may be made well, and live."
24. And he went with him. And a great crowd followed him and thronged about him.
25. And there was a woman who had had a flow of blood for twelve years,
26. and who had suffered much under many physicians, and had spent all that she had, and was no better but rather grew worse.
27. She had heard the reports about Jesus, and came up behind him in the crowd and touched his garment.
28. For she said, "If I touch even his garments, I shall be made well."
29. And immediately the hemorrhage ceased; and she felt in her body that she was healed of her disease.
30. And Jesus, perceiving in himself that power had gone forth from him, immediately turned about in the crowd, and said, "Who touched my garments?"
31. And his disciples said to him, "You see the crowd pressing around you, and yet you say, `Who touched me?'"
32. And he looked around to see who had done it.
33. But the woman, knowing what had been done to her, came in fear and trembling and fell down before him, and told him the whole truth.
34. And he said to her, "Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace, and be healed of your disease."
35. While he was still speaking, there came from the ruler's house some who said, "Your daughter is dead. Why trouble the Teacher any further?"
36. But ignoring what they said, Jesus said to the ruler of the synagogue, "Do not fear, only believe."
37. And he allowed no one to follow him except Peter and James and John the brother of James.
38. When they came to the house of the ruler of the synagogue, he saw a tumult, and people weeping and wailing loudly.
39. And when he had entered, he said to them, "Why do you make a tumult and weep? The child is not dead but sleeping."
40. And they laughed at him. But he put them all outside, and took the child's father and mother and those who were with him, and went in where the child was.
41. Taking her by the hand he said to her, "Tal'itha cu'mi"; which means, "Little girl, I say to you, arise."
42. And immediately the girl got up and walked (she was twelve years of age), and they were immediately overcome with amazement.
43. And he strictly charged them that no one should know this, and told them to give her something to eat.
My thoughts:
- What strikes me here is verse 35, when some from the ruler's house come and say "Your daughter is dead. Why trouble the Teacher any further?" To me it's almost as if they want this to be a hopeless case, like they don't want healing. But Jesus ignores them and tells the ruler not to fear. He IGNORES them. How interesting. If we are to be like Christ, perhaps this means we should ignore when people tell us to give up on things that appear to be dead. For example, "Rob, your diet/house reform/attempts at spirituality/career is dead. Why bother Jesus?" Well, I'll bother Him because He wants me to have faith and not fear.
- Also, the love of the father is so much more than the love of the father's employees. Christ knew this father's love for his girl because he loved her more than even her earthly father.
- In both cases what seemed hopeless was not, because of faith in Jesus. Surely, I can reform my life which is not hopeless.
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I'm posting every couple of weeks at a great new, local Catholic blog called Catholic Phoenix. Here's a link to my latest post .